


three days

by MercuryPoisoning



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Maes Hughes, One Shot, Royai - Freeform, they're doing their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29816721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryPoisoning/pseuds/MercuryPoisoning
Summary: Maes is dead. Roy and Riza are coping.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	three days

Riza stares up at the ceiling. Under her back, the bed is a little too firm. Over her head, the shadows are a little too dark.

The rhythmic tick of her wall clock has been occupying empty space in her head for an indeterminable length of time. At her side, Black Hayate’s gentle snores rumble out over her stomach, little puffs of hot air tickling the sliver of skin exposed at the hem of her shirt. After a while it begins to feel as though that part of her is the only part that isn’t numb with cold. She could’ve sworn she turned up the radiator when she got home - but her hands are numb, and her chest feels like ice.

It’s unclear whether this cold is coming from the outside, or from within.

Eventually the phone on her nightstand rings, and she knows who it is even before his voice ( _hoarse, tonal, shadowed_ ) fills her ear like a memory.

“Colonel,” she says.

“Lieutenant,” he responds, and it sounds like a plea.

Riza shuts her eyes and feels her whole body grow heavy. “I’ll be over soon, sir,” she murmurs, and then she clicks the phone back into the receiver. Black Hayate wakes up with a low, sleepy growl. She scratches his ears absently and flexes her fingers. They’re stiff with cold.

It’s been three days.

***

The moon is almost fully risen when Riza knocks on his front door. He takes a while to respond, but eventually the door opens an inch, and she sees half his face; and then it opens further and she sees all of it.He’s in lounge pants and a muscle shirt, his hair unkempt, swathed in the sharp scent of hard alcohol. Stubble dusts his chin, shadows hang beneath his eyes - and those eyes, she hates what she sees there - an empty, searching exhaustion that seems to make her hands even colder.

“Thanks for coming, Lieutenant.” He swings the door open and moves aside to let her pass through. “I’m sorry to trouble you at this hour.”

“Not at all, sir. I’m surprised it took you three days to do it.”

He laughs, without humour. “We’ve been busy.”

“That we have.”

The kitchen is dark, the only light source a sputtering lamp drooping its head dejectedly over the table, which is strewn with newspapers and scribbled notes and bleeding pens. A near-empty bottle of clear, glittering poison looms over a glass half-full of the same stuff.

“Want a drink?” He’s behind her.

“No, sir.”

“None of that. We’re not even in uniform.”

“Well.” Riza flexes her fingers and turns to face him, meeting his eyes, steeling herself against the shadows there. “In that case, Roy, you don’t want a drink, either. You’ve obviously had plenty. Let’s go to bed.”

He just stares at her in silence for a long moment, during which she watches something crumple behind his gaze. A little worm of foreboding moves down her spine. It’s times like this when she wonders, in some far-buried part of her, why they keep fighting. Why they try to contain the world when they can’t even contain themselves. Why they chase after redemption like foolish, drooling dogs when it is so clearly beyond reach.

She takes his hand and pulls him into the bedroom.

In the midst of everything it’s still a small wonder to her how their bodies slot into one another like puzzle pieces. They lie down together, and she puts her arms around his neck and holds his head against her chest, swinging a leg up over his waist to hold him tighter. And then she just holds him, holds him with all three limbs, holds him until his breathing regulates and the tension begins to seep from his shoulders. He’s warm, and she feels her hands thawing, blood moving into her fingers. How many times have they been here before? The nostalgia makes her want to cry.

Eventually he shifts against her and releases a long breath. “You’re cold,” he rasps, his voice tinged with faint humour.

“I know. I can’t seem to get warm these days.”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“I guess I thought I was used to it.” She feels his shoulders stiffen again and holds him tighter. “I thought I’d be able to take whatever came at me. Like - like we always have.”

“I know what you mean.”

He chuckles, and it grates across his throat like desert wind. “What right do I have to grieve him? I’ve taken the lives of so many others.”

“It’s not a question of right. We’re all grieving. It’s human.”

“I suppose we all need a reminder of that, once in a while. Our humanity.”

“Of course.”

“Damn.” And maybe now he’s crying, but she doesn’t acknowledge it directly. “I’m not sure I needed it this time. It fucking stings.”

“Me neither,” she whispers, and then she cries too, and the evidence is absorbed into his hair - and they just stay that way for a long time, two humans and the spectre of oppressive loss.

Riza dreams of gunfire and sand and scorching heat and a bloodstained telephone booth and a ruby red sky. And when she shoots up in bed with a scream lodged in the back of her throat, there he is, and he pulls her back down and murmurs useless comforts to her until light breaks the horizon again.

It’s been three days, and Riza suspects that it might be three more before she sleeps in her own bed again.

They’ve been here before.

**Author's Note:**

> Was up in my Hughes feels so you know I had to do it to em. Hope yall enjoyed, have a great day <3


End file.
